Bars and Babbling
by Diddyclick
Summary: Oliver meets a beautiful, mysterious blonde at a bar, but she leaves before he can catch her name. Who is this woman who has conquered his daydreams, and can he find her again?


**So I accidently posted this early like a numpty and had to delete it, along with the prompt, but it went something like this:**

**Prompt: Oliver sees Felicity at a bar but she leaves before he can talk to her. He looks for her everywhere but can't find her, until he sees her in a meeting with his parents and goes crazy, to their surprise.**

**Altered a bit but here it is! Please enjoy and leave feedback if you can! Comments always make me smile, constructive or otherwise. Thanks!**

His fingers drummed a relentless beat on the countertop as he stared into the murky glass before him, the scotch within yet to be sipped at. Oliver blew a deep breath out, watching it fan out against the cold surface of the glass, fogging it and obscuring the dark wood countertop below. His thoughts were especially dark this evening, a storm brewing in his mind to match the one beating against the windows of the bar in which he sat. He'd always hated storms, ever since he was a child and his mother used to rush in to his screams in the night; her cool kisses and kind words would always soothe him back to sleep, or so he had thought. That was, until he had let the animal loose. Locked in the grip of a nightmare, he had attacked his own mother - like some kind of savage beast, he'd let his instincts take control. Disgust welled up in his chest, creating a pressure that gripped him like a vice, causing his fist to tighten on the glass and his jaw to clench, his teeth grinding angrily. He was jolted out of his thoughts by a chirpy voice to his right,

"Woah now, if you tighten your jaw any further you might break it, and it would be an awful shame to ruin something so chiselled." Surprised, Oliver turned his head to locate the source of the voice. His eyes widened to see a blonde perched on the barstool next to him wearing a pink dress that cut at mid thigh to reveal mile-long legs adorned with bright pink heels that swung back and forth, falling short of the floor. Tearing his eyes from her legs, Oliver looked up, watching as the blonde bombshell gaped, pressing a hand to her pretty pink lips and blushing. "Oh god I just said that out loud didn't I?" Her blush deepened as he chuckled, and Oliver felt the laugh flood through him down to his toes, loosening the tightness in his chest.

"You may have done." He said, not bothering to fight the smirk that twitched his lips upwards, exercising muscles long unused. The blonde groaned, bringing her hands up from her mouth to cover her face.

"I am _so_ sorry. I don't usually hit on random hot strangers in bars." Oliver's brows shot up. "Not! That I was hitting on you," she quickly blurted, "it was more of an observation...like admiring a painting - or a sculpture really because _wow _Michael Angelo really got it right this time." She gestured towards him, before gaping again, "Oh god I just compared you to a sculpture; you must feel totally objectified right now.." It was when she drew another breath to speak when Oliver decided to rescue her from her adorably lengthy ramble.

"Take a breath," he advised, his smile widening as he watched snap her mouth closed, physically preventing the words from spilling out. Oliver motioned to the bartender for a glass of water, which was quickly presented to the blonde, who gratefully accepted, taking large gulps in an attempt to cool the raging heat in her cheeks. "Better?" Oliver inquired, tilting his head to the side, his eyes dancing with mirth. The blonde swallowed, and as he watched her, he couldn't help but notice her vibrancy in the midst of the gloomy bar - her bright pink dress and lips stuck out in the muted browns and oranges of the place, the light reflecting off the gold of her hair such that it seemed to be emanating from her, a single burning candle in the dun.

"Right. Sorry. I kinda have this thing where once I start talking I can't really stop and it becomes this whole mess of words which..." She trailed off, shifting slightly in her seat and Oliver suddenly realised he was staring. He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking back to his drink. He was _not_ blushing. Oliver Queen did not blush.

"Well if it helps, I find it rather of endearing." He said with a smile, trying to regain his composure. This time, instead of blushing, she raised an eyebrow,

"And he's got charm too; lock up your wives and daughters" she teased, a smile adorning those enticing, plump lips of hers. Oliver huffed out a laugh, and it struck him that he had smiled more in the past two minutes than perhaps in the last week, and all because of this blonde whirlwind. She had swept in and brought with her a disarming innocence that had somehow made him forget the rain lashing at the windows outside and simply laugh. Who was this girl? He was just opening his mouth to ask, when a sharp trill pierced through the silence, causing the girl to yelp and fumble with her bag. She pulled out the offending object - a phone, presumably hers- and glanced down at it. "Oh, frack," she muttered, leaping off of her chair and snatching her bag up. "I'm so sorry, I've got to.." she trailed off, motioning awkwardly with her hands towards the door before rushing towards it, her phone clutched in her hand. Oliver stood, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but his voice got caught in his throat, his mouth moving soundlessly, and by the time he had stood, she was gone.

**[3 weeks later]**

Oliver glared at the papers in front of him, deciding he was in an especially foul mood this morning. It had been three weeks since meeting the mysterious girl at the bar, and since then he hadn't been able to get the sound of her laugh, the curve of her smile out of his head. It didn't help that she was practically a ghost; immediately after she'd blown out of the bar, taking the light with her, Oliver had checked for the name on her tab, but the bartender had insisted she'd paid in cash, no name given. Everywhere he looked he saw her blonde curls and those pink lips, and his heart would lift with hope that it would be her, only for it to sink at the realization that it was simply his mind playing games. He felt that sinking feeling begin to settle into his bones as the days dragged on, with still no sign of the face that had lit up his day - heck, his _week_. Setting the papers back on the cool glass of the conference room table, Oliver blew out a breath, leaning back in his chair and feeling that pit in his stomach again.

"Something wrong, Oliver?" Came the voice of his mother as she entered the conference room behind him, clad in a professional black pantsuit, not a golden curl out of place. Oliver plastered on a smile and turned in his chair to regard his mother, replying,

"It's nothing mother. What time did you say the consultant would be here?"

"She should be here any minute now. Let's give her some leeway, it might take her a while to travel the eighteen floors from her department." His mother reprimanded, taking a seat at the table.

"Right," Oliver muttered, turning his chair back to face away from the door. He was interrupted from his brooding by the telltale _clack clack_ of heels on marble, his head shooting up in surprise. He turned in his chair, and _there she was_. Her hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, and rectangular glasses framed her striking blue eyes, but it was her all the same. He felt his spirits lift at the sight of her, along with a fluttering in stomach that had his palms sweating. If some distant part of his mind had registered that he was openly gaping at her, then it had yet to alert his body, for he simply sat there, drinking her in, until,

"Oliver, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" The voice of his mother jolted him from his revere, and he lurched from his chair, sending it pinwheeling on it's hinges behind him.

"Shit!" He bit out, lunging to catch the chair before it fell. Grabbing it's leather back, he hurriedly set it right and turned to address the shocked face of his mother and the somewhat amused gaze of one mysterious blonde enigma. Her eyes were wide with evident surprise, but her mouth, oh that mouth, was turned up in a small smile, forming a tiny dimple that he ached to kiss. Oliver shook himself, trying to rid himself of such thoughts to turn his mind to more important things, like forming an actual sentence. "Uh..hi.." he forced out breathlessly. _Tell her your name you fool_ came a voice in his head. "I'm Oliver Queen," he blurted, sticking his hand out, where it hung in the air awkwardly. She let out a small, musical laugh, bringing the lacquered fingernails of one hand up to stifle it, whilst the other reached out to shake his. Her tiny hand slid into his own, and he marvelled at the smoothness of her satin skin beneath his own rough pads, the creamy paleness of her skin a contrast to the tan of his own. Their eyes locked, and they each smiled, as if sharing their own little secret - which, he supposed, they were.

"Felicity, Felicity Smoak," she finally replied, her hand lingering in his own for a space, before dropping to her side, leaving his own feeling cold. It was, once again, his mother's voice that snapped him from her blue eyed gaze, as he realised that they were, in fact, not alone.

"Right, well now that introductions have been made, let's get down to business, shall we?" Moira's cool gaze flicked between the two. Their exchange, it seemed, had not gone unnoticed.

"Right!" The blonde - no, _Felicity _- squeaked, the smile disappearing from her face and leaving Oliver feeling oddly bereft. Pushing her glasses up her face, Felicity sat, clasping her hands in front of her on the table. With that, the spell was broken, and Oliver too descended, though his gaze remained locked on Felicity, whom was now talking animatedly with his mother about changes to QC the computer system. As the meeting dragged on, Oliver felt his eyes frequently drift to Felicity, watching the way her hands would hover in the air, and her eyes would light up as the conversation drifted to anything she found particularly riveting. It seemed like mere minutes until his mother was rising smoothly from her chair and clasping hands with Felicity, before sweeping out of the room with the grace and poise that only the Queen matriarch could master. And so it was that he was left, once again, standing awkwardly in front of her, his mind racing and his palms, once again, clammy with sweat. Felicity herself seemed equally at loss, for her mouth kept opening, before snapping shut with a click, in a move he would have found intriguing, if he wasn't so damn nervous. Felicity seemed to snap out of it first, shaking herself before hurriedly gathering up the files on the desk and tucking them under her chin, her gaze locked firmly on the floor. Her eyes darted up to his own, and she flashed him a small, yet dazzling, smile, "Until next time, Mr Queen?" Though her stance remained professional, the slight intonation in her voice sent hope fluttering through his chest. Oliver felt a smile spread across his face, warming his cheeks and bringing with it that wonderful lightness; he had missed smiling.

"You can count on it, Felicity Smoak."

**Thanks for reading! If you feel like gifting me with some ideas you can always pop me a prompt on my tumblr: .com but you needn't feel obliged. Until next time!**


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